


All That We Let In

by LydiaJ



Category: True Detective
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:15:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaJ/pseuds/LydiaJ
Summary: Post-Carcosa, Marty takes Rust home with him. But Rust has wounds deeper than either of them guessed and they're tearing him apart. Marty's not sure what to do, until Doumain mentions a cousin of his who has a small farm he's looking to sell. It can't hurt, right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Indigo Girls' "All That We Let In"

The first night Marty brought Rust home from the hospital, he sat up beside his bed, watching Rust's chest rise and fall. Waiting for it to stop. The wound in his chest was barely healed, still angry red under the line of stitches. He was still and quiet, only the near-silent rasp of his breath an indicator that he still lived.  
But come morning, Rust was still alive. Still there, asleep in Marty's bed. Some of his hair had come loose in the night and fell across his face, moving slightly as his breath caught it. Before he could stop himself, Marty reached over and brushed it out of his face. Rust didn't even twitch.  
Rust's wallet and keys lay on the bedside table. He hadn't wanted them at first, but Marty had convinced him that they might come in handy. He might have some stuff in that shithole he lived in that he needed. Changes of clothes, some books, whatever. Also, unless he wanted to disappear back into the wilderness, he needed ID. And Marty wasn't going to let that happen without a fight.  
"Wha time's it?" Rust mumbled. His eyes were barely opened, the bright blue barely visible.   
"Early. Go back to sleep." Marty had just settled back in the chair when the phone rang. He hauled himself up and stalked across the house to pick it up.  
"Marty, what the hell!" Is the first thing he hears.   
"Hi, Maggie. Nice to hear from you." He sighed. He probably should have expected this, but he was a little preocupied with Rust.  
"What were you thinking? Rust should be at the hospital!" She's mad. "He could die!"  
"Said he didn't want to be in the hospital any more. I don't blame him."  
"So you're going to take care of him? Change his dressings? Make sure he doesn't bleed out?"   
"He was going to leave whether or not I brought him. At least this way I'll be able to look after him."  
"And you are going to." Maggie paused. "Look after him."  
"Yes. I am. He's my friend, Maggie. I'm not letting him go again. Not now." He wanted to say more, but he's interrupted by a noise coming from the bedroom. "Shit, Maggie, I gotta go." And he hung up on her. Probably get an earful about that, but he can't bring himself to care.  
Rust's screaming, or would be if he could get air. It's a horrible sound, strangled and raw. He's writhing in bed, twisting one way, then another. His eyes were closed, though. It must have been a nightmare.  
"Rust! Rust, wake up!" Marty shook Rust's shoulder, trying to wake him up. Rust just let out another moan.  
"Shit, Rust! Wake the fuck up!" He pulled Rust up, desperate to make him stop sounding like that.  
Rust woke with one last gasp. His eyes were wide, unfocused, wild. "What- Where am I?"  
"You're at my house. You're ok, Rust, you're ok." Marty climbed onto the bed and squeezed Rust's shoulder as best as he could.  
"Shit. Shit, Marty," Rust tried to sit up, winced, and laid back down. "I'm sorry."  
"The hell are you sorry for?" Marty sighed. "It's not your fault."  
"Yes it is. I shouldn't even be here. I did what I had to do, I'm done."  
"Don't say that shit. Don't. You belong here."   
"Don't belong anywhere." Rust's eyes were glassy. He wouldn't meet Marty's gaze, staring at the ceiling, then the wall. He tried to shrug Marty's hand off, but Marty didn't let him.   
"Quit it. Go back to sleep. I'll be here." Marty laid down beside Rusk, keeping his hand on Rust's shoulder. Rust's eyes flutter, but he doesn't close them all the way.  
"You'll be here?"  
"Mmhmm." They both drifted back to sleep, breathing in sync.


	2. Chapter 2

Marty woke up again about noon. Rust was still asleep, flat on his back, with his head tilted towards Marty. They were closer together, almost cuddling. Marty's hand rested on Rust's chest, over his heart. He could feel Rust's heartbeat, faint but there. He didn't want to move. He didn't want this moment to end.   
Rust shifted in his sleep. He winced. Then he woke. "We should get my stuff."  
"What stuff? And there's no way in hell you're up to going anywhere right now."  
"My stuff. In my house. I gotta get it. Unless you want me lying around in a hospital gown forever?" He blinked at Marty, eyes bleary.  
"Shit. You can borrow some of my clothes. I've got some sweatpants around here somewhere."  
"Somewhere?"  
"In the closet. Probably. I can go get them, in a bit." Marty didn't want to move. Lying right here, with Rust within reach, made him the most content he'd been since, well, since he and Maggie were still married. The sun shining in lit everything up, made it look kind of golden. Even Rust looked calm, for once.  
"Gotta piss." Rust sure knew how to ruin a moment.  
"C'mon. I'll help you." Between them, they managed to get Rust upright. The walk to the bathroom hadn't felt this long when Marty was injured, but he hadn't been hurt as bad. Rust could barely shuffle forwards, leaning all his weight on Marty. Once they got to the bathroom, Rust slammed the door in his face, muttering about how he could do this part on his own.  
"Fine. But if you start bleeding, yell."   
"Yeah, yeah."   
Marty leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, not wanting to leave. If Rust bled out on his bathroom floor, he'd never forgive himself.   
After a few minutes, the door creaked open. Rust leaned in the doorway, the hospital gown he still wore barely covering anything. The scar on his chest was red, bright and angry against his skin. Marty couldn't look away from it.   
"Quit staring. I know I look like shit," Rust said. He did look that bad, Marty had to admit. He was stick-thin, for one thing. The purple remains of two black eyes still showed on his skin. His hair hung limp, more out of his ponytail than in it. And he needed a shave.  
"I'll get you some sweatpants." Marty turned and went into the spare room, pointedly not looking at Rust. As he thought, there were a pair of sweatpants in a box he had put there when he moved in. He pulled them out, held them up. They looked like they'd fit Rust, small enough that they wouldn't just fall off too-skinny hips.   
"Just sweatpants? No shirt?" Rust asked.   
"You should probably keep your wound uncovered." Marty sighed. "Just put 'em on. You look ridiculous."  
Rust pulled the sweatpants on under the hospital gown and pulled the gown off, dropping it on the floor. Christ, Marty could count his ribs from here. He'd been lean once, but never like this. One good breeze would push him over.   
"C'mon. I'm making us lunch."  
"'m not hungry."  
"Don't care. You're eating." Marty rooted through the fridge. Not much there. He'd have to go grocery shopping soon. There were two microwave meals still in the freezer. "You want macaroni and cheese or meatballs?"  
"Neither. I said I ain't hungry."  
"Seriously? You're skin and bones. Eat something before you fall over."  
"Fuck you." Rust stalked over to the couch and sat down. "I'm not that bad."  
"Right." Marty shook his head. He nuked both meals and brought them over to the couch. "Here, take this."   
Rust stared at the plastic tray in front of him, piled with macaroni and violently yellow cheese. "No."  
"I will feed you myself, don't think I won't," Marty said. He sat down, dropping the macaroni and cheese in front of Rust, and peeled the plastic off his own. It wasn't the most appetizing thing, but food was food. He shoveled some corn into his mouth.  
Rust sighed. "I know you too well to deny that." He glared at the food, but he did pick up the fork. He glared the entire time he was eating.  
"Happy now?" he asked, after he had eaten the last of the macaroni.  
"Fucking ecstatic."  
"The hell are you so bothered about, anyway?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"This. Making me eat. Why does it bother you?"  
"Why does it bother me? Rust, why doesn't it bother you? You look half-dead, for Christ sake!"  
"So? Marty, you don't have to care so much. Just let me go. I can be out of your hair soon."  
"What happened to us getting your stuff?"  
"Fuck that, man. Just drop me off at my place."  
"No. Fuck no. I'm not letting you out of my sight. I'm certainly not dumping you and taking off!"  
"Just forget about me!" Rust was shouting, now. "All I want to do is leave and-" He was cut off by a coughing fit.   
Marty pressed one hand to his back, watching anxiously as Rust gasped for air. "This is why you've got to stick around. You're not anywhere near healed. In fact, you're going back to bed. You need rest. We both do."  
"Or what? Maggie will yell at you?"  
"She already did that. Kinda surprised she didn't call back again to yell some more. But I'm tired. And I bet you are too."  
Rust looked like he wanted to argue, but yawned instead. Marty helped him up and they staggered back into the bedroom.  
Marty was dimly aware he was dreaming. Not enough to wake up, though. He was back in the house. The house than stank with rot and mold. Rust was there, too, somewhere in the maze of rooms. Marty had to find him, before it was too late.  
He stumbled through room after junk-filled room. He didn't realize the house was this big. As he went on, bloodstains started appearing on the walls and the floor. The smell got worse and those devil traps hung from the ceiling. Looking at them made his head ache and they blurred and wavered, refusing to stay in focus.   
Then he heard a scream, quickly cut off. It sounded like Rust. He dashed ahead, hardly noticing the things he bumped into or knocked over. Rust was in danger. That was the only thing that mattered.  
Another scream. Closer, this time. The stench was nearly overpowering. Blood oozed down the walls and dripped from the ceiling. Marty nearly slipped in a pool of it on the floor.  
He burst through a door and stumbled to a halt. This was the room he had cornered the woman in. The one with the tub and the bloodstained mattress. But now Rust was in the tub, blood mixing with the water. There was no sign of who had hurt him, but a spiral had been carved into his bare chest. His hair floated in the water, almost looking like it was dissolving.   
Marty was so focused on the blood that it took him a second to notice that Rust's chest wasn't moving. When he tried to take his pulse, Rust's skin was cool to the touch.   
Marty dragged Rust's body out of the tub. He lay still in Marty's arms, head lolling back. His eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.   
"Marty! Marty!"  
He woke with a jolt, his throat hoarse. "What? What's happening?"  
"You were having a nightmare. Shit, you were screaming so hard I'm surprised you didn't wake yourself up." Rust, the real, alive Rust, was kneeling next to him on the bed, one hand on his shoulder. "You ok, now?"  
"The hell kind of question is that? What do you think?" The image of Rust's dead eyes wouldn't leave his head. "No, I'm not ok."  
"And here I thought you were the more well adjusted of the two of us."   
"You didn't go in that house." Marty heaved himself up. "You didn't see the shit they got up to."  
"Sorry." Rust looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't.   
"Thanks," Marty muttered, "If you want me, I'll be out on the couch. Don't think I'll be getting any more sleep tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

Marty didn't go back to bed. He didn't go to sleep again, either, just sat on the couch. Stared at nothing. He couldn't shake the image of Rust's dead face, that spiral carved into his chest. The thought of Rust not being around anymore, being dead, made his blood run cold.   
It was obvious that Rust was still suicidal. Whatever hope that story about the stars appeared to have given him, it either hadn't lasted or hadn't been there to begin with. Wound or no wound, he seemed determined to slink off into the wilderness to die.  
Well, Marty wasn't going to let him do that. If he had to tie Rust to the damn bed, he would. The man had to recover at some point.   
As it turned out, he didn't need to tie anyone to anything. Rust had given up wandering off to anywhere, for the time being. He had given up on pretty much everything, it seemed like. If Marty hadn't bullied him into eating and limping into the living room occasionally, Rust would have laid in bed all day.  
Marty eventually drove out to Rust's shack on his own and picked up some clothes and other stuff. He nodded to Doumain in passing. Told him he wasn't sure when Rust would be back, if ever. Doumain shrugged in a way that indicated that Rust would still have a job there. Maybe. Marty wasn't sure.

A week after Rust first came home, there was a knock at the door. Marty opened it and stopped short, surprised to see Audrey standing outside.   
"Well, this is unexpected," he said. "Not that I mind. Come in."  
She stepped inside and looked around, taking in the condo. He was suddenly aware of the mostly blank walls, the pile of laundry in one corner, the dust.   
"If I had known you were coming, I'd have tidied up."  
"Really?"  
"I would have tried. Rust makes it difficult."  
"Rust is still here? I'd have thought he'd be gone."  
"He's still pretty badly hurt. Spends most of the time asleep. Probably wouldn't last long on his own."  
"Still. I'm surprised he didn't leave anyway. He's not the sort to stick around."  
"Oh, he wanted to. I had to convince him."  
"You have a guest? I heard voices." Rust leaned in the entrance to the hallway, eyes half open. "Hi, Audrey."   
"Hi, Rust. You look..." She trailed off.  
"Like shit? I have seen myself in a mirror, lately," Rust said, "It is nice to see you. Getting kind of boring around here."  
"Boring? Really? Don't you have enough to do just healing? Or should I rustle up some entertainment?" Marty glared, only half serious.  
"Should I come back at a better time?" Audrey asked.  
"No!" Both of them spoke at the same time.   
"Don't mind me," Rust said, "You know how I get."   
"Anyway." Audrey paused. "I did have a reason to come here."  
"What is it?" Marty asked, when it became evident that she wasn't going to continue.  
"I'm engaged." She attempted a smile. "The wedding is next year. I, well, I'd like you to come."  
"Of course I'll come," Marty said. "I'd love to come." He hadn't expected this at all. Audrey actually asking him for something like this hadn't crossed his mind. Ted was her father, now. Marty had been absent from her life for so long.  
"Great! I'll be sure to send you a Save the Date."  
"A what?"  
"It's like an invitation. But before the invitation."  
"That doesn't make sense, but ok. I'll be waiting," Marty said.  
"I should go. I've got a showing at 6," Audrey said. "It was nice seeing you both."  
"Come again, sometime soon." Marty kissed her cheek and held the door, watching her walk to her car.

Maybe it was Audrey's visit that did it. Maybe seeing her reminded him of the past. Reminded him of when he was still married. Or maybe the last few weeks had been leading up to this. Hell, maybe the last seventeen years had been.  
Whatever caused it, that first kiss felt inevitable. Oh, it was a surprise when it happened, no doubt about that. But after, neither of them was shocked.  
After Audrey left, Marty persuaded Rust to eat something. They sat at the table for once, Rust picking at a frozen dinner. The silence between them was comfortable.  
And when Marty got up to do the dishes, he leaned down, unthinking, and brushed his lips across Rust's. Rust's only response was a slow, deliberate blink. Marty expected to feel weird. He should, right? He's not the type that kisses another guy. But he doesn't. Feel strange, that is. It feels natural.  
When he pulls back, he's not sure what will happen. What he gets is a soft look from Rust.   
"Well, at least you did that first. For once," Rust said.  
"The hell does that mean?"  
"Means a man shares a bed for as long as we have, he starts getting ideas. You and me, we've been dancing around this long enough. I just thought I'd be the one to kiss you."  
"It's not like I meant to! I didn't wake up this morning thinking 'Oh, I'll kiss Rust Cohle today!'" Marty said. "It was... habit, that's all."  
"Habit?"  
"Yeah, habit. Like when I was living with Maggie." Marty knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say. Rust's face closed up in an instant, the soft look gone.  
"Really, now. So you just got caught up in old times, saw long hair out of the corner of your eye, and forgot yourself. Whatever helps you sleep." He got up and shuffled off to the bedroom, leaving Marty feeling suddenly, oddly bereft.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been updating slowly. I've been busy enough that I can make no promises as to when or how often I will update, but this fic is not going to go unfinished, I promise you that.

Marty didn't join Rust in bed that night. He slept, poorly, on the couch. He couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. He hadn't been thinking about Maggie, not really. He hadn't mistaken Rust for her. Even when he was kissing Rust, he was completely aware of who he was kissing. But admitting that to Rust was a whole other thing.   
Admitting it to Rust meant saying it out loud. Saying that he was attracted to another man. It was something he could barely admit to himself and he'd only done that one lonely night some time in 2009. His thoughts drifted towards Rust that night, not Maggie. He had wondered where the other man was, what he looked like after seven years of doing whatever he was doing. Wondered if he was even still alive.  
That thought had brought a spike of panic with it, which confused him. There was a time when the news of Rustin Cohle's death would have given him at least a small amount of pleasure. His feelings had shifted without him being aware of it. The distance of time had blunted the anger he felt.   
When he had gotten the call to come by the CID to answer some questions about Rust, he'd felt relief at first. If nothing else, this meant that the other man was still alive. It wasn't until they started questioning him that he wondered what was going on. He couldn't believe that Rust was a serial killer, nor that he had fooled him the entire seven years they worked together. Sure, they had parted violently and hadn't talked in a decade, but he still remembered Rust. The man moved around like sheer force of will was the only thing holding him together. Weird, sure. Annoying as hell, certainly. But he hadn't killed Dora Lange.  
Actually seeing Rust again was a punch in the gut. He looked half-dead. Whatever he had been up to in Alaska, he hadn't been taking care of himself at all. He had managed to get more hair than before, though, the bastard.  
Marty was glad he'd been able to take down Dora Lange's killer with Rust. It felt right, both of them being able to close the case together. And nearly losing Rust had revived his feelings. The long hours spent holding him, hoping that rescue would come and not come too late, were torture. Waiting to hear how he was in the hospital was just as bad.  
But then they had come home and, confronted with Rust's actual presence, he quailed. Thoughts held in the middle of the night were one thing. Action was another. There was a space between them he wanted to bridge, but couldn't quite bring himself to. Until last night, despite himself.

Eventually, he fell asleep. A ray of morning sun shot straight at his eyes work him up. His back ached. The rest of him wasn't too comfortable, either.   
He hauled himself off the couch and started making coffee. Maybe it would clear his head of all these thoughts. The smell perked him up, a little.  
Rust shuffled out of the bedroom. He looked like he hadn't slept much either. That didn't, Marty realized with a jolt, make him any less attractive. If anything, it just made Marty want to start mother-henning him. Shit.  
"Morning," Rust mumbled.   
"Morning," Marty said, "Sorry about last night." He hadn't meant to say that.   
"About what? If it's the kiss, don't bother. Already forgotten."  
"No, not that. I wasn't. I wasn't thinking of Maggie. Last night."  
"The why the hell did you kiss me?"   
"I wanted to. That's why."  
"Wanted to? Wanted to what?"  
"Kiss you, you asshole!" Marty hadn't meant to say that that loud. Hadn't meant to say it, at all.  
"Wait, so you wanted to kiss me? As in, me, Rust. Not Maggie."  
"...Yes. Yes, I did."  
"Prove it."  
So Marty kissed him, again. This time, it was entirely deliberate. Rust's mustache and his morning stubble scratched together, but it was still good. He was so fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

Kissing Rust was nice. So nice that, after breakfast, he did it again. And again, until they were making out like teenagers on the couch. Rust was still weak, his stomach still tender, but he could kiss.   
After they finished making out, they talked. About the future. Christ.  
"I've got a business you can join. Hart and Cohle Investigative Solutions has a nice ring to it."  
"I dunno, Marty. Working the last case with you was good, but I'm not sure if I want to get back into it."  
"Really?"  
"Really. I can barely walk from the bedroom to the kitchen. It'll be a while before I'm physically fit. And, well, mentally...." He sighed.   
"Yeah. But, what do you want to do? Go back to Alaska?" Please, no, Marty thought. Please don't go.  
"Fuck, no. I've had this idea, sometimes... But, it's stupid."  
"What is it?"  
"Nothing. Forget I said anything." Rust tried to hoist himself up off the couch, but only got halfway before he stopped and groaned.  
"For fuck sake. Here, let me help." He wrapped one arm around Rust's waist and draped his arm over his shoulders. They staggered to the bedroom. Marty noticed distantly that they were getting better at the maneuver. "Tired, already?"  
"Nah, just felt like lying down." Rust pulled Marty down with him, so they ended up facing each other. "See, it's nice, right?"  
"I guess. Haven't laid in bed this time of day in years. Not since Audrey was little."  
"Be lazy in your old age."  
"Old age. Fuck that." Marty sighed. "It's not like business was booming before you came along."  
"Really? I hadn't noticed. Now that you say it, though, it was mighty suspicious that there were all those empty desks."  
"Yeah, yeah. Mr. Sensitivity."

Later that day, Marty tried to bring up Rust's idea. The possibility that Rust was planning for the future at all sent a warm feeling through his chest. If he was thinking up a plan, however stupid he thought it was, that meant he was unlikely to do anything to himself. Unlikely to- Marty could never finish that thought. The mere idea of Rust lying cold and dead on the floor, from pills or a blade or a gun, chilled him all over. The knowledge that it had come so close to that didn't bear thinking about.  
"What was that idea you had?" He asked.  
"Which-? Marty, I'm not going to tell you. I shouldn't have said anything at all." Rust was tense and wary. "It was a stupid dream I had once, when I was drunk off my ass."  
"C'mon, I won't make fun of you."  
"Right. You won't make fun of me."  
"Promise, I won't. Besides, since when are any of your ideas stupid?"  
"I've had stupid ideas. I've had plenty of stupid ideas. Remember 2002? Remember when I fucked your wife?"  
"Yeah... I remember that." Marty sighed. "Why'd you have to bring it up? Man, that whole thing was fucked up."  
"I'm proving a point. I'm an idiot when it comes to some shit. Mostly shit that involves you."  
Marty stared at him. "The fuck does that mean?"  
"It means that you make me stupid. I come up with stupid ideas because of you. Stupid plans for the future! Plans that can't happen!"  
"I'm why you make plans?" Marty asked. He couldn't believe it. The mere fact that Rust was making plans at all was more than he could hope for. This... he couldn't express how he felt.  
"...Yeah. Marty, I thought you knew. I'd have no reason to live, otherwise."  
"Fuck, Rust. You can't say shit like that." Marty slumped over, head in his hands. "What the hell. Fuck."  
"Why can't I?" Rust glared at him.   
"You know me! I can't take that kind of responsibility. I'll fuck up. I know I will. And I can't bear to fuck up with you," Marty said, "I just... I just can't."  
"What do you mean?"   
"You're all I've got left, Rust. Sure, Maggie and the girls are talking to me more, but... we're probably not going to be close again. It's not like I've got any other friends. It's just you and me." Marty reached out and touched Rust's shoulder. "It was a long few years there, when you were gone."  
Rust looked at him, clearly startled. "I figured you had the guys around, even when you'd left CID."  
"Nah, they didn't stay close. They weren't what I'd call friends, really, though. Drinking buddies, sure."  
"Aren't we a fucking pair." Rust shook his head.   
"Yeah." Marty leaned over and kissed him. "So, your idea involves me, and the future?"  
Rust sighed. "Don't start on that again. C'mon."  
"Fine, I'll leave it. For now." Marty felt hollowed out by what Rust had said. He hadn't realized how much Rust depended on him. This relationship between them was so new, so fragile. There were so many ways it could go wrong. And he couldn't bear if it went wrong.  
"Thanks." Rust leaned against him, resting his head on his shoulder. "Maybe I'll tell you. Sometime."  
"Sometime?"  
"Sometime. Now shut up and enjoy the moment."


	6. Chapter 6

Rust had a nightmare that night. A bad one. Marty was jolted awake at ass o'clock by screams.   
"Rust, shit!" Marty sat up and pulled him into his arms. Rust didn't fight him, which scared him almost as much as the nightmare. "Wake up!"   
Rust lay limply in his arms, gasping for breath. His eyes were still closed and he grabbed weakly at Marty. "Marty, where... where are you."  
"I'm right here. Rust, wake up, I'm here." Marty shook him lightly. He didn't respond, crying out instead.  
"No! No, don't! Don't take him!" Rust started struggling, though he was too weak to break Marty's grasp.  
"Wake the fuck up!" Marty half-shouted. "Wake up!"  
Rust still didn't wake up, but he stopped struggling, lying still in Marty's arms, panting. He had exhausted his already limited energy. Marty ran his fingers through his hair. The other man really needed a trim. And at least ten pounds, he was still stick thin.  
After a moment, Rust's breathing changed. His eyes fluttered open. He peered up at Marty, as if uncertain of what he was seeing. "Shit, Marty."  
"What the hell happened?"  
"Nightmare. A bad one. You were... were..." He shook his head. "Don't want to talk about it."  
"You don't have to. Just... just stay here. With me." Marty readjusted his arms around Rust. "You scared me."  
"Sorry," Rust mumbled. He curled closer to Marty. "Sorry for my shit brain."  
"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. Do you think you can fall back asleep?"  
"I dunno." He sighed. "I'll try."  
"Would, ah, would it help if I..." Marty tried to get the words out, "If I cuddled you?"  
"Y'know, I think it might." Rust smiled, wanly. "Can't hurt."  
They arranged themselves carefully, Marty behind Rust. Rust's head was under Marty's chin, so his feet stuck off the edge of the bed a bit. Marty wrapped one arm carefully around his waist.   
"This good?"  
"Yeah. It is." Rust sighed again, but he didn't sound as defeated. "Feels good, Marty."  
"I'm not hurting you?"  
"Not at all. I kind of wish we had done this sooner." He laid back against Marty and his breathing gradually evened out. Marty stayed awake for a little while longer, but he fell asleep eventually, too.

They both slept in. Rust didn't have another nightmare and they stayed curled together, touching from head to feet. Feeling Rust's chest rise and fall under his arm soothed Marty. He needed the reminder that the other man was still alive. That he was still there, with him. Warm and safe.  
The sky outside was overcast. The clouds roiled, looking like rain.   
"Shouldn't you be going to work or something," Rust mumbled.  
"I took some time off, to look after you. And the guys can do their jobs without me there."  
"Guys, what guys?"  
"Hart Investigative Solutions ain't a one man thing. There's a couple of other guys I hired part time, they pick up jobs when I need them. They were willing to cover for me. Until we're both better, at least."  
"Then what?"  
"Then what what?"  
"Are you going back to detective work? After I'm better?"  
"I'm not sure what else I would do," Marty said. "Or are you willing to tell me your idea?"  
Rust twisted carefully so he was looking at Marty. "Not.. not yet. But it is something I want to do with you. I want... I want to be with you." He cupped Marty's face with one hand. "I want us to be together."  
Marty stared at him, not used to this kind of openness. "I, ah, I do, too." He cringed at the sound of his voice, hesitant and weak.   
"Good." Rust leaned over and kissed him. It reminded him of kissing Maggie, not that he'd ever say that. It was familiar, like they'd been doing it forever. And it was easy, easier than anything. As easy as breathing.  
They laid there together for a long moment. Rust had a different look on his face, one Marty had never seen before. Most of the lines on his face were smoothed away. He looked younger, all of a sudden. Not so worn out. He looked, well, he looked happy.  
"Are you happy, Rust?" It slipped out, without him meaning to say it.   
Rust frowned. He looked uncertain, suddenly. "I... I guess I am. Yeah, I guess I am." Then he smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Rust finally told him a few days later. Marty had just come back from visiting Hart Investigative Solutions. He was standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water.   
"Doumain's got a cousin whose got a farm," Rust said.   
"That's nice. What of it?"  
"He's thinking of selling it." Rust was staring at the ceiling.   
"And?" Marty asked.   
"That's the plan I had. For the future. To live somewhere quiet, like that. Somewhere out in the country, no one bothering us."  
"Us?"  
"You think I have any intention of letting you out of my sight?" Now Rust was looking at him. He was kind of smiling. His hair was loose, not up in a ponytail like usual.  
"Guess I never really thought about it."  
"Whatever my future is, I want you in it," Rust said, "You asshole."  
Marty sighed, "The feeling's mutual, jackass. So, where's this farm?"  
"I don't remember right now. Not completely in the middle of no where, but close. On a bayou, somewhere."  
"Sounds like not a bad place. Unless there's alligators. Are there alligators?"  
"I don't know." Rust stretched. "I haven't seen the place. It could have alligators in the sink."  
"Alligators in the pool."  
"I doubt there's a pool."  
"The garden, then," Marty said. "Maybe they're all over it."  
"Maybe. We'll have to visit to find out."   
"How can we visit, if you don't remember where it is?"  
"I'll ask Doumain. He'll tell me, then we'll go."   
"You really have this all planned out, don't you?"  
"I've been thinking about it for a while."  
"...How long is a while?"  
"A while." Rust got up and stretched. He wandered over to Marty and kissed his cheek. "That's all I'm saying."  
The kiss surprised Marty. He managed to snag Rust before he got too far, though, and kissed him full on the lips. They stood for a moment, kissing in the sunlight streaming through the window. It reminded Marty of long-ago weekend mornings when he would kiss Maggie in the kitchen before the girls were up. Not that he'd tell Rust that, ever. But it felt the same. Warm and comforting. Home.

A farm. Rust wanted to move to a farm. Marty could barely believe it. He knew Rust grew up in the middle of nowhere with his dad, but he'd never indicated that he wanted to live there after that. Even living out back of Doumain's, he was on the edge of civilization.   
Marty wasn't sure how he'd lived when he'd gone back to Alaska. He was scared to ask, to be honest. If Rust had been living in some shithole, he didn't really want to know. And at the same time, he did. He wanted to know what Rust's life had been like, for those eight years before he came back to finish up the case. He had barely spared the other man a thought at the time. Too wrapped up in his own shit to think about anyone else.  
Rust sure hadn't looked happy when he'd met Marty again. He'd looked mostly dead, just skin stretched over bone. Like he wasn't dead out of pure stubbornness. The only thing keeping him going had been that one loose end. Thank God for loose ends.  
He wasn't sure how to bring it up, though. Rust had been more open recently, but he had limits. Poke too hard at some things and he'd just clam up. Push him further and maybe he'd leave. Or maybe he wouldn't, if Marty got him at the right time, in the right mood. Whatever that was.   
Rust seemed to be in a better mood after telling Marty about the farm. It was like, despite himself, he had made things easier by telling Marty. Maybe he was finally learning that just talking worked the best. Marty could have told him that. Too bad Marty had only learned it after years of failed attempts at relationships.   
Not that Rust's track record was amazing, either. Two relationships his entire life. Unless he'd had another while in Alaska he hadn't told Marty about. He doubted it. Rust didn't seem like he was together enough to have any kind of relationship with anyone then. It always had been easier for him to push people away. Except Marty, in the end.


	8. Chapter 8

Doumain gave them the address a couple of days later. Marty looked it up on Google Maps. It was on the outskirts of a small town a couple of hours north. One edge of the property was along a bayou. It wasn't very much, just a few acres with some buildings on it. Still, it was more land than he'd ever owned.  
"Did Doumain tell you what animals there were?" Marty asked.  
"He said there wasn't much. Some chickens. A couple horses," Rust said.  
Horses. Marty hadn't ridden in years. Not since before Audrey was born. Having horses around would be nice. 

They drove up to check it out a couple of days later. The house was at the front of the property, by the road. It was a small, one story place, yellow with white trim. The outbuildings ringed the edges. Marty could see the horse from the road. A few chickens were in an enclosure, pecking at the dirt.  
Marty pulled his car up and parked next to the house. A breeze swung a wind chime next to the door. Otherwise, it was all quiet. The man who owned it wasn't there. He'd supposedly left a key in one of those fake rock safes next to the door.   
As Marty poked at the rock, trying to get it to open, a cat wandered around the corner of the house. It was a fat tuxedo, looking at him and Rust with its head cocked to one side. Rust picked it up and held it against his chest, where it seemed content to stay. It meowed quietly and licked his hand.   
"One of the inhabitants likes us," Rust said.   
"Huh," Marty said, once he got the rock open. "Likes you, anyway." He stood, key in hand. "Lets go in."  
Inside was fairly sparsely furnished. What was there was nice, though. Lots of wood. Landscape paintings with horses on the walls. A couple of bookshelves. The windows were large and placed to let the most sun in.   
In the living room, the cat meowed to be let down and ran over to what looked like a stack of wood and carpeting. It climbed up on top of it and sat, with all its limbs folded under it.   
"The heck is that," Marty said.   
"It's a cat tree. Cats sit on them," Rust said. "You've never seen one before?"  
"I'm more of a dog person." Marty wandered over to the window. The view outside was nice, if not breathtaking. On the other side of the bayou, trees and shrubs grew enough to partially hide another road. There wasn't much noise of traffic or anything else, for that matter. They were out far enough into the sticks that he was expecting that. Might be nice to have some quiet.  
"Sure is quiet out here," Rust said, echoing his thoughts.   
"Yeah. Not bad."  
"Not at all." Rust joined him at the window and leaned against him. "I like it here."  
Marty wrapped an arm around his waist. "Me, too."  
The cat hopped down and wandered over to climb up onto the windowsill. Marty scratched behind its ears. He could see the two of them standing here in the morning, drinking their coffee.  
Upstairs held two bedrooms and the bathroom. The windows in one bedroom faced east and filled most of one wall. The yellow walls made it even brighter. The opposite bedroom's walls were pale blue.  
"Let's not sleep in the yellow room," Marty said.  
"You took the words out of my mouth." Rust wandered over to the window in the blue room. The view held only a couple of other houses, emphasizing the isolation of the house. The view on the other side was probably the same.  
There were bookshelves along the walls of both rooms, though they were empty. There were a few in the downstairs living room, but most of them were up here. There were a few nondescript paintings on the walls, too.  
"You wouldn't have to put your books on the floor, anymore," Marty said.   
"But then I won't be able to find anything." Rust tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't for more than a few moments.   
"You spent half an hour looking for one book yesterday. And you found it under the couch." Marty rolled his eyes.   
"You must have moved it. My stacks are organized." Rust sighed.  
"Whatever you say, dear," Marty said.   
They wandered back downstairs and out the back door. 

Outside was the same. Despite the animals' noises, it was quiet and serene. Occasional cars drove past, but not many. It was quiet enough that they could hear the cars coming from a while away. The road was dry enough that a cloud of dust rose and slowly dissipated with each car that passed by.  
In a back corner of the property, out of site of the road, was a garden. A series of raised beds lay in two rows. Nothing was in them but what looked like weeds. At least, they didn't look like any vegetables Marty knew. Just tangles of green leaves and stems and shit.   
Marty and Rust walked down to the edge of the bayou. The water wasn't flowing very fast. Just rippling quietly, brown and full of leaves. A few birds swooped overhead, calling to each other. The horses nickered.   
"You think-?" Rust asked.  
"Yeah. Let's buy it," Marty said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the last one.

Buying the farm was easy. Moving in was hard. Well, hard for Marty, anyway. Rust still didn't have much stuff. Most of his belongings were the books he was forever picking up from book sales or yard sales.   
Marty called Maggie after they finalized the sale.   
"You're buying a what?'  
"A farm."  
"But, why?"  
"Rust wants it. Thinks it'll help. He hasn't been doing too well, lately."  
"And you want to help him." It's not a question. "You're worried about how he feels." She sounds cold, suddenly.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. I can't... I can't lose him, Maggie."  
"Like you lost me?"  
"It's not the same. Losing Rust means he'd... he'd... be dead. You know that, Maggie." Marty's throat felt tight. "You know what he's like."  
"Are you sure? Or are you just projecting?" Maggie was not pulling punches today.   
"Why does this bother you so much? Maggie, what's going on?"  
"I just can't believe you're moving to some farm. And the way you are with Rust... I guess I'm jealous." She sighed. "You'd never cheat on him. You're moving for him."  
"We've been over this before." It's Marty's turn to sigh. "I'm sorry I was such an asshole when I was married to you. But I've changed. And I'm not going to make the same mistakes with Rust."  
"I guess I'm glad you've grown. Sometimes I wish it had been with me."  
"Is Ted being difficult?"  
"No. No, he's fine. I just think about what might have been. Don't you?"  
"Yeah. I do. Less, now," Marty said. "But when I was alone, all the time. I tried to come up with ways to get you back, for a couple of years."  
"Before or after Ted?"  
"Mostly before. After, well, it seemed hopeless."  
"At least you realized," Maggie said. "Sorry, that was harsh."  
"Yeah, but true. Hey, I moved on eventually," Marty said.   
"With your old police partner. I still wonder how that happened."  
"Believe me, so do I."  
"I suppose we both got lucky." And wasn't that an olive branch.   
"Yeah, we did." They made small talk for a little while, then hung up. Sometimes, Marty was amazed that Maggie would talk to him at all. He hadn't expected her to visit him in the hospital, but she had. She'd extended a hand, her and the girls both, the opportunity to be in their lives again. To not be alone.  
And then Rust did the same thing. Opened up to him. Said something important, not his usual bullshit. And then he'd stayed. Marty'd half expected him to take off after they'd closed the case. Not sure where he'd have gone, no where good, but it was Rust. He wasn't the kind who stayed, Marty thought.  
But, he had. He'd stayed and worked his way into Marty's life until he couldn't imagine him elsewhere. Didn't want to imagine him elsewhere. 

Rust came home and interrupted him in the middle of these thoughts. He brought a pile of unfolded cardboard boxes, to add to the ones already filled and in the corner of the living room. He'd also bought some popsicles, as Marty discovered when he dropped one on the back of his neck.  
"What the fuck?" Marty yelped at the cold, wet sensation. He twisted around to look at Rust and the popsicle dropped to his side. He scooped it up before it could leave a wet spot on the couch and unwrapped it. Orange. Nice.   
"Thought I'd get you something nice to cool off. Didn't expect you to be sitting on the couch, staring at nothing," Rust said.   
"Maggie called. We, well, had a bit of a fight. Made me think."  
"You had a fight with your ex-wife? Well, that never happened before."  
Marty rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that much of a fight."  
Rust snorted. "With you two it never was."  
"What does that mean?"  
"You know. You'd yell and she'd nag and you'd end up staying in my spare room for a couple of weeks until you wheedled your way back into her good graces. Wondered why you bothered to, eventually."  
"Because she's, well, she was my wife. And I thought you liked her?"  
Rust got a strange looks on his face. "Mostly, yeah. I guess."   
Marty thought about asking more, but his popsicle started dripping on him, so he hurried to finish it. Then Rust tossed some boxes at him and they started packing again.

That night, though, Marty couldn't stop thinking about what Rust said. "What did you mean?"  
"Mean by what?" Rust asked, sleepily.  
"You and Maggie. Thought you were friends," Marty said, "You always seemed to get along."  
"We did. Back then, yeah, I guess we did." Rust sat up in bed. "Well enough that you thought we were seeing each other behind your back."  
"I was a dumbass. And projecting." Marty sat up, too and leaned against Rust. "Aren't you glad I pulled my head out of my ass?"  
"Yeah. I am. I'm glad I'm with you."  
"And not Maggie?" Marty wasn't sure why he asked that. It just slipped out.  
"Definitely." Rust got that strange look on his face again. He twisted around so he was kind of spooning Marty. "I'd rather be with you, any day."  
"Really?"  
"For fuck sake, yes. Yes, I would rather be here, with you, than with your ex-wife." Rust sighed. "What started this?"  
"Talking to Maggie... it got me thinking. About us. How you stayed, after everything."  
"Where would I have gone?"  
"I don't know. I thought you might wander off, end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Finally tie it all off."  
"I may have. I wanted to, you know I did," Rust curled closer to Marty, "But I woke up here, with you, and I couldn't. I couldn't leave you behind."  
"I'm so glad you didn't," Marty admitted. He wrapped an arm around Rust's shoulders. "I'm so damn glad."


End file.
